Baby, I Was a Miracle
This morning, I watched a small spider descend from someplace hidden, landing on a bit of dried flowers above my desk. It then sat completely still, as if it had just noticed that I was there. I let it be, although I don’t care for spiders. It’s not a poisonous, so I’m not in any danger. Which is good, because it has since disappeared. But I knew enough to make that determination. But if I’d never seen a spider before? If I lived in a place where spiders are routinely a threat? It’d be a different story.
Speaking of stories, I’ve told this one many times, but it’s relevant now. So, I’ll tell it again. I was born over three months early. I was very small—two pounds, one ounce. I was a deli order, for pete’s sake. I survived, because my mother was advised to go to a particular hospital that had a great premie/neonatal unit. At one point, as newborns do, I dropped down to a pound and a half. But I thrived in the end.
I thrived because I had excellent medical care and science. I thrived, because I had a dedicated nurse. I thrived, too, because I was stubborn (I had very specific ideas about how I wanted to lie down in my incubator, which was the opposite of what I was supposed to be doing). Even that early, I was born with hair and a very large mouth—I came out screaming. And I lived and my mother lived (it was all very uncertain), thanks to modern medicine and science.
There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t be here today. There were a million moments where I could’ve and maybe almost died. I was a sickly kid. I got pneumonia a lot. I cannot recommend it. Zero stars. But again: science and medicine saved my lived. Again and again and again. Because I had antibiotics. Because I had steroids. Because I had vaccines.
I remember getting my last childhood vaccine. My dad said if I was good (I hated shots, but could be bribed), I could get a slinky. I sat perfectly still in that goddamn wooden chair. I remember that chair. Vaccines and medicine were the reason I made it to adulthood. I would not be here without either. So, if you have enjoyed my poetry, my selfies, my silly sense of humor—anything about me—it’s because I am privileged enough to have made it here.
When I see things like funding being withheld from NIH, I am more than worried. When I read that RFK Jr has abruptly canceled his scheduled meeting about next season’s flu shot and downplayed the very real measles outbreak with, essentially, some kids die—I get sick to my stomach. It’s the first U.S. measles death in a decade. When the administration is considering yoinking the bird flu vaccine, as the bird flu is growing in concern, I want to scream.
The reason you stopped seeing so many children in graveyards is because of vaccines. You can look at childhood mortality rates and the advent of the polio vaccine and see cold, hard facts. It’s not debatable. It’s reality.
What makes us great is science. It’s modern medicine. It’s funding those things and creating an environment in which advances can be made. It’s how you get a vaccine for one of the worst cancers out there (which is now in danger, because of ignorant people). But only if you fund the things that can help us as a society. Vaccines and science keep us healthy and safe.
If anything I’ve ever done matters to you at all, call your reps. It matters. It always matters. Even when it doesn’t seem to. Even when things feel terrible. Use your voice. Again and again and again. Write letters. Send faxes. Do not hold back.
And the spider from the beginning of this? A reminder that knowledge and experience matter—as does context. Remember where the danger is, what the danger is. Don’t let fear or despair make your choices.
We’re all in this together.
XOXO